


Home is Where the Heart Dwells

by meyari



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyari/pseuds/meyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason comes home from patrol to find Tim in his apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is Where the Heart Dwells

Jason yawned, jaw popping, as he climbed the last three steps to his apartment. The stink of gun smoke filled his nose, despite the hour and a half and twenty miles since the last time he'd fired his guns. His wrists ached. So did his back, legacy of a kick to the hip that had sent him sprawling through a crumbling chimney and then down over the roof edge into a dumpster one story below. His steel toe boots felt like they were made of concrete, not metal and leather.

At least no one in this particular hideout gave a damn if he came in looking like something fresh out of a gang war. Most of the residents were gang members or families of gang members. They all looked the other way if there was blood, guns, knives, and minded their own business other than trying to hook Jason up with this or that son or daughter. The worst one on that shuffled out of her apartment as he dragged his feet up the hallway.

Old Mrs. Rockwell, she of the blue-dyed hair and shapeless black house dresses over rainbow Doc Martins, snorted and slapped his hip as he passed. Jason flipped the bird at her, grinning when she cackled and flipped a matched pair right back at him.

"Get some damn sleep," Mrs. Rockwell said as she stomped towards the stairs. "That boy of yours woke me up early."

"Sorry," Jason apologized automatically.

He paused with his hand on the door as he wondered who exactly Mrs. Rockwell was talking about. She was gone, stomping down the stairs like she was six foot ten and three hundred pounds instead of four foot eleven and ninety-eight pounds sopping wet. Jason frowned, slapped his cheek to wake up a little. It didn't work. Neither did shaking his head and then pulling his gun.

There was music coming from inside, bass pounding just loud enough that he could feel it through the floor but not loud enough for him to recognize the tune. Beat that fast meant either Dick, Tim or Steph. Cass liked fast but she preferred even faster than that. And Damian, the little shit, insisted on playing classical whenever he crashed with Jason. Happened more and more since he hit puberty and shot up like a freaking weed.

Jason eased the door open, shut it carefully behind him while scanning the combined living room and kitchen. No signs of a walking disasters so it couldn't be Dick. And the kitchen wasn't touched so probably not Steph. She always made a point of cooking something while she was there, just to leave the leftovers in his fridge. 

Weirdly, it wasn't touched at all. Had to be Tim visiting and he always attacked Jason's coffee machine but no, nothing was out of place.

Bedroom door was shut, muffling the fast-shifting flow of too-loud 80's pop music a bit. Not enough as far as Jason was concerned. Sounded like Tim'd had too much coffee and painkillers again because he didn't stay on any one song for more than a few seconds.

"The hell are you doing?" Jason asked as he opened the bedroom door.

He stopped, sighed, and put his gun back in its underarm holster. Tim, dressed in two of Jason's T-shirts, one of his sweatshirts and a pair of his sweatpants that were four sizes too big, lay on the bed, snoring. Somehow, he'd contorted himself so that his laptop remained stable on his lap while sliding sideways until his cheek rested on the covers. One of his hands was on the touchpad. Every time he twitched in his sleep, the song changed.

"You are too much," Jason said as he carefully disentangled the computer from Tim's clutches. Turning the music off got him a mumbled and one hand flapping at Jason. "Ridiculous. I don't know why I put up with you. Flat hopeless, that's you."

By the time Jason had shut down Tim's computer, stripped his clothes off, showered, eaten the last of the really awesome mac and cheese Steph had made during her last visit, Tim had sprawled across Jason's entire bed. His feet dangled off the far side closest to Jason's window. One hand flopped over the edge on the opposite side, fingers still twitching. And his head rested just under the covers with only enough of an air hole for Tim to breathe.

"Completely ridiculous." Jason snorted.

He shoved Tim back into the middle of the bed, dodged three nerve strikes that would have been nasty if Tim'd been able to aim them properly, and then pulled the covers up over both of them even though Tim's legs still dangled off the side of the bed.

Jason waited, light off. One minute in Tim grunted and curled into a ball on the other side of the bed, wiry back to Jason and elbows at the ready to cripple anything that got too close. Two minutes and Tim sighed, stretched out properly, over the full length of the bed. Then he grumbled, opened his eyes to blink at Jason, before rolling half on top of Jason. He firmly buried his face in the nook of Jason's neck, kissed that spot as if it was his favorite bike, and then sighed.

"Hopeless," Jason chuckled.

"Go to sleep," Tim muttered back, the last word dissolving into a snore that made Jason's heart clench in strange, wonderful ways.

"Completely hopeless," Jason whispered, brushing a kiss of his own over the top of Tim's head as he hugged Tim gently, cautiously, grinning at the angry grumbles against his neck. "Lucky I don't throw you out. In the morning. Next year. Sometime."  



End file.
